


in the shadow of your heart

by chasingredballoons



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Eventual Smut, F/F, Implied/Referenced Brainwashing, The Spiderbyte Epic™ with a side of team talon, implied doomfist/reaper
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-14
Updated: 2017-07-14
Packaged: 2018-12-02 06:13:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11503422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chasingredballoons/pseuds/chasingredballoons
Summary: Sombra glances over at Widowmaker. “I know you don’t trust me, or even like me, and you probably considered just leaving me for dead, or worse, for Overwatch to kidnap me and try to lure me over to the good side—” Widowmaker almost laughs. Almost. “—but thank you.”“You are correct with your first two assumptions,” Widowmaker says. “But you are wrong about the third. I would not just leave one of my partners to die.”“Partners?” Sombra’s face lights up, and Widowmaker gets the feeling Sombra is going to be crowing about this for the next year. “Huh, maybe I should get injured more often. It takes me nearly dying to bring out your soft side?”“My soft side,” Widowmaker repeats, with an unimpressed expression.“Yep,” Sombra giggles, and leans in unnecessarily close. Idly, Widowmaker notices that Sombra’s eyes aren’t violet like she first assumed, but a dark blue. "You should be more careful though, people might start to think you actually care."





	in the shadow of your heart

**Author's Note:**

> the majority of this was written before doomfist came out, and the reveal that reaper is one of talon's leaders, so in this fic he is just a mercenary employed by talon. there's a gunshot wound and some descriptions of blood in this chapter, i tried not to make it too graphic, but just to warn y'all. also i don't know shit about doctor/medicine stuff OR fighting/sparring/boxing stuff so if any of this is wildly off......just go with it.  
> title from cosmic love by florence + the machine and you can come talk to me about spiderbyte on [my main tumblr](http://lauracarmillas.tumblr.com) or [my writing tumblr](http://chasingredballoons.tumblr.com) :)

This is an outrage.

Widowmaker is one of Talon’s most valuable assets, their perfect ruthless executioner, but by some cruel twist of fate, she’s had the misfortune to end up as nothing more than Sombra’s babysitter for this mission. Sombra is an adult, even if she never acts like it, and if she can’t take care of herself on a simple mission, then that’s Talon’s problem, not Widowmaker’s.

“This is so  _boring_ ,” Sombra groans from next to her, where they’re perched up on the balcony of the building opposite Tecnologías Catalanas, a technology company headquartered in Barcelona, and their current target.

Widowmaker hums in agreement. The mission is simple: Reaper and some extra Talon operatives are to take care of the guards and, on the off-chance they are outnumbered, simply cause enough of a distraction for Sombra to slip into the head offices unnoticed and hack their software, and Widowmaker’s insultingly easy job is simply to cover Sombra’s ass and make sure no one gets near her.

It’s a bit much for a basic hacking mission, in Widowmaker’s opinion, but Talon’s higher-ups must be very interested in what the company are up to if they’ve sent three of their top agents along, with extra back-up.

Sombra is humming next to her as she taps away at a floating violet hexagon in front of her face with one hand, while the fingers on her other hand drum against her thigh. Widowmaker suppresses the urge to shove her off the side of the balcony. The legendary patience she prides herself on is wearing slowly thin due to her hyperactive fidgeting company.

“Mon Dieu, what is taking so long?” Widowmaker mutters under her breath, her voice catching Sombra’s attention.

“I thought you snipers prided yourselves on patience?” Sombra says. “You in a hurry or something?”

“No, but I can think of better ways to spend my time than being stuck here with you,” Widowmaker grunts, hoping that Reaper has missed a guard somewhere and she’ll have the opportunity to shoot someone. Perhaps Sombra.

Sombra's amused chuckle grates on every single one of Widowmaker's nerves. “You really don't like me, do you?”

“Don't take it personally,” Widowmaker replies, shooting a mocking smirk towards Sombra. “I tend not to like anyone.”

Widowmaker ignores Sombra’s answering laughter. She has no idea what Sombra finds so amusing about Widowmaker not liking her, and she has no interest in knowing.

There’s a loud commotion from the entrance to the building below, so Widowmaker flips on her infrared and looks through the scope of Widow’s Kiss to see what the fuss is about. Her bored expression twists into a scowl when she spots a familiar unwelcome gorilla, followed quickly by an equally familiar unwelcome blonde whizzing through the air after him.

“ _Merde_ ,” Widowmaker mutters under her breath, scrambling into position with her rifle. “Overwatch are here. The doctor and the monkey.”

“How the hell did—”

“I don’t know and I don’t care,” Widowmaker cuts Sombra off, shoving her towards the edge of the balcony. “Go. Get to the head office. Do your job. I’ll shoot anyone that gets close.”

“You say the sweetest things, Spidey,” Sombra grins, hopping up onto her feet and tossing her translocator down to the street below. She leans down to boop Widowmaker on the nose, and her figure turns purple, distorts and then vanishes before Widowmaker has a chance to snap at her.

Widowmaker rolls her eyes, before slinking further back into the shadows cast on the balcony. If the monkey gets his paws on her she’s a dead woman, and as for the doctor… Well, Widowmaker just doesn’t want to deal with the sad look that the doctor gets in her infuriatingly familiar blue eyes every time they meet.

Widowmaker activates her visor and it slides down to click into place, eight glowing eyes keeping watch over the surrounding area. She lifts her rifle and peers through the scope again. Reaper and the other Talon operatives are keeping Winston and Ziegler busy in the large open foyer of the building, but where the gorilla goes, a certain annoying Brit is usually close behind.

As if on cue, a blur of blue light goes zipping across her sights, and she feels Tracer materialise behind her a second before she shoots out her grappling hook, swinging across to the safety of the balcony on the opposite side of the street.

“Aw, leaving already, love? But I just got here!” Tracer calls out cheerfully, promptly aiming both guns at Widowmaker and opening fire.

Narrowly missing the pulse-fire, Widowmaker leaps off the balcony, free-falling towards the street before shooting out her grappling hook and crashing through one of the windows on the fourth floor of Tecnologías Catalanas.

Ignoring the faint sting on her upper arm from where the shards of glass pierced her skin, Widowmaker runs through the door into what turns out to be the stairwell, throwing a venom mine out behind her and grappling up a few floors, hoping Tracer is stupid enough to fall for the same trick she pulled in King’s Row.

Unsurprisingly, Tracer is.

The venom mine explodes the second Tracer comes charging through the door after her, spluttering loudly as she trips and falls to the floor in an ungraceful heap.

While Tracer is incapacitated, Widowmaker touches her radio earpiece and immediately snaps into it, “Tracer’s here, I’ll keep her busy, try not to get yourself killed,” and doesn’t bother waiting for an answer from Sombra.

At least now instead of staring at Sombra through her scope she actually gets to do something, even if it is just keeping her least favourite Overwatch agent occupied. All she has to do is keep Tracer busy and avoid getting shot until Sombra radios through her successful hacking. Still an insultingly simple job, but at least it’s marginally more exciting now with Tracer zipping around and getting in the way.

Widowmaker bounds around the building, up and down the stairs, through various conference rooms and offices, while Tracer whips around being irritating, her stupid comments of  _thought you never missed, love, you're losing your touch_ being drowned out by Widowmaker sending volleys of bullets towards her.

Just as Widowmaker’s found a hiding place in an empty office to take a second to catch her breath, Reaper’s voice comes through the radio, growling at Sombra to hurry up.

“Their security system is a bit more advanced that I was anticipating,” Sombra huffs in annoyance. “I just need a few more minutes. I’m sure you can keep them busy for a little longer. Not getting tired in your old age, are you Gabriel?”

Reaper just snorts in response, and then the only noise from his comm is gunfire with Winston roaring in the background.

Tracer chases her back down the ground floor and — because her mere presence wasn’t obnoxious enough already — tries to initiate conversation. "So, what does Talon even want with a Spanish tech company?"

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Widowmaker sneers, and fires another round of bullets towards Tracer.

“Y’know, either you’re  _really_ losing your touch, or you aren’t actually trying to kill me,” Tracer says, blinking out the path of the bullets easily. “Which means your orders ain’t to kill me.” Widowmaker fires at her again, but Tracer zips back across to the other side of the room, and continues talking as if they’re discussing something as bland as the weather. “And your edgy buddy down there seems perfectly happy playin’ cat and mouse with my pals, doesn’t look like he’s trying to get anywhere either.”

Widowmaker narrows her eyes at Tracer, not liking the direction her thoughts seem to be going. She keeps her face perfectly neutral as she leaps towards Tracer and throws another venom mine at her, following it with a hail of gunfire, hoping to distract Tracer enough from figuring out their plan. She manages to keep Tracer busy for a minute or two, chasing her up a few flights of stairs, before she has to duck into an empty room to reload her rifle.

Unfortunately, Tracer zips into the room after her. “As I was saying,” she continues as if she hadn’t been interrupted by Widowmaker shooting at her. “All of this is makin’ me think that you two are just a distraction for whatever your real plan is.”

“You are not as smart as you seem to think you are,” Widowmaker growls, lifting the now-reloaded Widow’s Kiss and pointing it at Tracer. “Maybe we were just in the mood to cause a little chaos.”

“Nah, that’s bollocks,” Tracer shoots back instantly, and Widowmaker raises her eyebrows in question. She’d much rather be shooting at Tracer, but at least if Tracer’s preoccupied by chattering away to Widowmaker, she won’t be hunting down Sombra. “You two might be mass-murdering assassins, but you don’t go around killing people just cause you feel like it, you've always got a reason.”

Widowmaker scoffs. “You presume to know our ways.”

“All I’m sayin’ is that I’m pretty sure the biggest terrorist organisation in the world wouldn’t send their best two agents out, with a load of back-up, just to shoot up some fancy tech lab,” Tracer says, and Widowmaker sees the exact moment Tracer puts it all together. “You two and the rest of the cavalry down there  _are_  just a distraction, aren’t you? You've been lettin' me chase you round this whole building except for the top floor. There's someone else up there."

Widowmaker is fast, but Tracer literally has time on her side, and makes it to the top floor a few seconds before Widowmaker grapples straight up the stairwell after her. Those few seconds are all Tracer needs to blink into the main office, catch sight of Sombra and unleash a flurry of bullets straight towards her.

Widowmaker sees it happen almost in slow motion. Sombra spins around at the racket, her eyes go wide at the sight of the Overwatch agent, and her figure starts to distort as she prepares to teleport to safety. Most of Tracer’s bullets go whizzing past her head, thudding into the wall behind her, but one skims against her upper arm and another bullet slams straight into her abdomen just above her stomach, cutting off Sombra’s attempt at escaping.

There’s a very brief moment of silence where the three of them just kind of stare at each other in stunned shock, before Sombra lets out a surprised  _ow_ and collapses to the floor.

Widowmaker sees red.

(In retrospect she's almost glad Sombra's too incapacitated to notice what happens next, and therefore have enough ammo to tease her for the next decade.)

She drives her whole body into Tracer, slamming her into the wall, and slams the butt of her rifle into her face, knocking her out cold in one shot. As tempting as it is to just finish the annoying little nitwit off, inciting an all-out war between Talon and the newly reformed Overwatch by murdering their golden girl probably wouldn’t be her best decision.

Widowmaker tosses a venom mine out into the corridor to alert her to anyone trying to sneak up on them, and dashes over to where Sombra’s groaning quietly on the floor. “Sombra?” She says, putting Widow’s Kiss down and slowly rolling Sombra onto her back. “Can you hear me?”

Sombra mumbles something incoherent, and whimpers in pain when Widowmaker tries to push her clothes aside to examine the wound. Panic isn’t a feeling Widowmaker is very familiar with; one of the many emotions Talon programmed her not to feel, but there’s a  _lot_ of blood.

“Shit.” Widowmaker reaches up to her earpiece, radioing through to Reaper. "Code black. Sombra's been injured, I am taking her back to the ship now."

Reaper curses, and grunts a quick  _understood_ before the comm switches off.

“Would you—  _fuck_ , would you believe I’ve never actually been shot before?” Sombra groans.

“That is surprising,” Widowmaker mutters, ignoring the barely noticeable way her voice shakes, looking around for something she can use to try and stop the blood flowing alarmingly quickly from Sombra’s stomach.

Sombra coughs weakly. “This hurts like  _fuck_.”

“We need to get you back to the ship before you bleed out,” Widowmaker says. When nothing presents itself to use as a makeshift bandage, she settles on ripping one of Sombra’s sleeves off, ignoring the pathetic huff of protest from Sombra herself, and Widowmaker presses it against the wound.

“Sombra, you need to try and get up.” Sombra just groans, her eyes starting to slip shut.  _Merde_. “Sombra!”

Widowmaker curses under her breath when she only gets another groan in response. She doesn’t have to be a doctor to know that a lack of response is not a good sign, especially when there's still a steady flow of blood from the wound.

Attaching Widow’s Kiss to the holster on her back, Widowmaker hoists Sombra up, ignoring the loud groan of pain, the blood seeping onto her catsuit,  _and_ the fact that she was not built to go hefting people around, and hurries as quickly as she can back to the stairwell and up towards the roof. Sombra herself weighs hardly anything, tiny as she is, but all the technology and translocators and guns attached to her make her heavier than Widowmaker was expecting. Reaper is already on the ship when Widowmaker carries Sombra inside. His gauntlets are off, revealing deep claw marks across his right arm slowly oozing dark red blood, but he barely seems to notice it, instead making a beeline towards the pair of them the second he catches sight of Widowmaker and the unmoving body in her arms.

“What happened?” Reaper growls, relieving Widowmaker of a mostly unconscious Sombra, carrying her over to the makeshift medbay of the ship and placing her down on the small stretcher. He's starting to smoke a bit around the edges, Widowmaker notices, the way he does whenever Widowmaker or Sombra inadvertently get hurt.

“Tracer happened,” Widowmaker replies, rummaging through the medkit frantically and willing herself to stay calm. “Gunshot to the stomach. A bullet grazed her arm as well. I think she’s already gone into shock.”

Widowmaker and Reaper are hardly practiced surgeons, but Talon’s various doctors and scientists trained them enough basic first-aid that Widowmaker is fairly confident they can keep Sombra alive long enough for them to get back to the Talon base, where they can pass her over to people who actually know what they’re doing. She locates the syringes and the vials of nanobots that she’s pretty sure the Talon scientists stole from Overwatch’s resident doctor, and throws them over to Reaper for him to administer.

Sombra whimpers quietly while Reaper opens her coat and pushes her top up so he can get to the actual wound. It’s still bleeding profusely, but it’s further away from the centre of Sombra’s stomach than Widowmaker initially thought, so hopefully it hasn’t done  _that_ much internal damage. Sombra remains mostly unresponsive while Reaper injects her with the nanobots and a local anaesthetic. Widowmaker has no idea what the nanobots actually do, but they’ve been used on her before when she’s been unlucky enough to get shot, and as far as she can tell, they seem to patch up any kind of wounds and stabilise the recipient long enough until they can be examined by a professional doctor.

Unfortunately, Talon’s nanobots aren’t quite as advanced as Overwatch’s, and since Sombra’s injury is so large, the wound itself still needs to be stitched up before Sombra bleeds to death, and she jerks back into consciousness the second Reaper pierces her skin with the needle.

“Jesus  _fuck_ , warn a girl next time?” Sombra retorts angrily, wincing in pain when the needle jabs at her again.

“Don’t move,” Reaper grunts.

Sombra squirms, and Widowmaker shifts behind the stretcher to hold Sombra down to stop her from struggling and moving too much. Sombra’s hands flail about for a second before they cling onto Widowmaker’s forearms, her nails immediately digging into her skin. Widowmaker tries not to jump at how  _warm_ Sombra’s hands are.

"Did you get the information we needed?" Widowmaker asks, trying to distract Sombra from the pain.

Sombra tries to laugh, but it turns into a pained groan. "Your bedside manner leaves a lot to be desired, Doctor Lacroix. But yeah, I got it. I don’t know what most of it was, but it better be worth getting fucking  _shot_ for.”

Reaper finishes stitching her up, applying a temporary dressing before moving on to the much less severe graze on Sombra’s arm, and Widowmaker lets go of Sombra’s shoulders in favour of retrieving the painkillers. Sombra’s face lights up as much as it can when she spots the syringe in Widowmaker’s hand. “I take back what I said about your bedside manner. You’re the best.”

“I’m flattered,” Widowmaker remarks dryly, poking at Sombra’s arm until she finds a vein, before pushing the needle into Sombra’s arm and injecting her with the drugs.

A dopey smile makes its way onto Sombra’s face within seconds, and Widowmaker can’t help the amused twitch of her lips. “Better?”

“I need to get shot more often,” Sombra sighs happily, and Reaper snorts.

“Please don’t,” he says. “There’s only so many times I’m going to patch the pair of you up before I get annoyed and just let you die to teach you a lesson.”

Sombra snorts. "Whatever you say, Mister  _no one gets left behind_." Widowmaker fights off another smile at Sombra's terrible impression of Reaper and Reaper's answering grumble, and decides not to comment on the fact that Reaper is now solid, no little puffs of smoke coming off of him.

Reaper finishes cleaning up Sombra’s other injury, and stands up, turning to face Widowmaker. “I’m going to radio ahead to the base, tell them what happened. You stay with her, make sure she survives till we get back.”

Widowmaker nods, taking a seat next to the stretcher as Reaper disappears off in a swirl of black smoke.

“Hey Spidey,” Sombra says, and Widowmaker glances over at her. Sombra’s staring straight at her, her blue eyes strangely clear and focused despite the drugs and the pain. “Thanks. For saving my ass back there. I owe you one.”

“It was my job to keep you safe,” Widowmaker says automatically, ignoring how that doesn’t feel like the whole truth.

“Right. Your  _job_ ,” Sombra replies, closing her eyes and leaning back against the stretcher’s pillow. “Which by the way, you kinda sucked at. You were supposed to protect me, and I ended up with a giant hole in my side.”

Widowmaker glares at her. It’s not  _her_ fault Tracer decided to show up and be her usual irritating self and get in the way.

“But you could always make it up to me,” Sombra pauses for dramatic effect, opening her eyes to grin at Widowmaker like a fool. Widowmaker sighs, knowing what’s coming. “You want to kiss it better?”

Widowmaker rolls her eyes, and tries to tune out Sombra’s giggling.

/

Sombra finally passes out somewhere over Switzerland, blissfully oblivious to the swirling turmoil of confusion inside Widowmaker’s head.

She’s seen Reaper suffer worse injuries and managed to stay perfectly calm while tending to him. But the surge of anger when Sombra collapsed, and the brief moment of panic when Sombra stopped responding to her are unfamiliar to her. Widowmaker is perfectly comfortable with Reaper’s presence, both on missions and around Talon’s main base, but she’s essentially been his second in command for almost a decade. She’s had plenty of time to get used to him; she’s only been partnered with Sombra for a few months.

It makes no sense. Widowmaker doesn’t even  _like_ Sombra. Well, she doesn’t like anyone, but Sombra irritates her. A lot. She never seems to shut up, or stop moving, and has the innate ability to get on every single one of Widowmaker’s nerves. Kind of like Tracer, except Widowmaker isn’t allowed to try and kill Sombra. Well, it’s never been outright stated that she’s not allowed to attempt murder on any Talon operatives, but Widowmaker assumes it would be frowned upon.

She blames this bizarre fixation on Sombra on the Volskaya Industries incident. Not only did she watch silently as Sombra completely blew their mission, but she then kept it to herself. She tells herself that it's because she wants to figure out for herself what Sombra is up to before ratting her out. People don't just join Talon for no reason, they have motives. Widowmaker has no idea what Sombra's motives are, and she doesn't particularly enjoy being left in the dark about someone she has to work with. She's...intrigued by the sarcastic secretive little hacker.

Then again, her orders were simply to assassinate Volskaya, not watch and relay Sombra's every move back to the council.  _Talon doesn't always get what it wants_ , the part of her that isn't quite Widowmaker whispers in her head.

Reaper materialises on the other side of the stretcher in a puff of black smoke, and stares at her silently. Widowmaker can't see his expression under his ridiculous mask, but she knows his body language well enough by now to know what he’s thinking.

"Can I help you with something?"

"Just before you radioed through to me that Sombra had been injured, the monkey went primal," Reaper says. “Any idea what could have set him off?”

Widowmaker bristles. “Maybe you stepped on his glasses again.”

“Or maybe you did something to Tracer,” Reaper retorts immediately. “You were keeping her busy, but I didn’t see or hear her at all while I was making my way back up to the ship.”

“Guess I did a good job keeping her occupied then.”

“Widowmaker,” Reaper growls, the edges of his body beginning to dissolve into smoke. This time Widowmaker doesn't think it's from worry.

Widowmaker sighs. “I didn’t kill her, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“But you did hurt her,” Reaper says, and then pauses for dramatic effect. “Because she hurt Sombra.”

It’s not phrased as a question, but Widowmaker can tell Reaper wants an answer.

“My job was to protect Sombra,” Widowmaker repeats what she said to Sombra, hoping Reaper will get the hint and shut up.

He doesn't. “So whatever you did to Oxton was just about the mission?”

“Are you approaching anything resembling a point?” Widowmaker snaps, avoiding his question.

"You care about her," Reaper says, motioning towards Sombra’s unconscious body.

Widowmaker scoffs in derision. "She’s our partner. It’s not a matter of  _caring_. And even if I wanted to, you know I can't.”

Which is true. It’s not that she doesn’t care, it’s that she  _can’t_ care. She doesn’t know how to.

“What I  _know_ , is that you did the same for me, on that mission in Paris,” Reaper says, and Widowmaker hesitantly looks over at him. “I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for you saving me.”

Reaper has a point. They’d been on a mission in Paris, no Overwatch agents for once, but there had been a run in with several guards piloting several very large mechs armed with very large guns. Widowmaker had spotted a mech making a beeline for an already-outnumbered Reaper who was distracted by some other guards. Reaper isn’t exactly easy to kill, what with being able to disintegrate his body at will and everything, but he wouldn’t have seen this coming. Widowmaker didn't even think about it, she just shot her grappling hook out, pulled herself into an area overrun by guards much more trained in hand-to-hand combat than her, raised her gun and fired and fired until the mech fell down inches from Reaper’s back. Reaper had looked at her, his expression hidden behind his mask, but Widowmaker could tell what he was thinking.

_You saved me. Thank you._

She had been silent the entire flight back to the base, mentally preparing herself for the reconditioning the Talon doctors were going to put her through again.She might be Reaper's partner, but she isn't programmed to be able to  _care_. She’d risked her life to try and save Reaper, on a mission where her objective was not to act as Reaper’s guard, a sure sign that  _something_  was beginning to crack.

Except the strangest thing happened.

No one came to collect her from her quarters. No scientists or doctors showed up to whisk her back to the secret underground lab in Siberia where Amélie Lacroix was killed and the Widowmaker was created. The council never questioned her about it when she was debriefed on the mission. They had never discussed it, but Reaper had kept her secret.

"You and Sombra are all I have," Widowmaker eventually says, shrugging in defeat. “It would be a shame if something happened to either of you.”

(She doesn’t  _care_ , but it’s the closest she can get.)

/

Widowmaker’s missions tend to be quite spaced out, Talon not wanting to overwork their prized possession, so with the exception of a mandatory check-up in the medical bay, she has a few days to do as she pleases before being shipped off somewhere to put a bullet in some unfortunate soul’s brain.

She had been briefed on her next mission earlier in the day; a solo trip to Stockholm, to assassinate the CEO of an arms company who’s been funnelling money into Volskaya Industries latest mechs. Now, late in the afternoon, she’s cleaned Widow’s Kiss, had a nap, read a few chapters of her current book, but is now starting to feel a bit claustrophobic being cooped up in her room with nothing but her own thoughts for company.

So Widowmaker picks up her rifle and heads to the place she always goes when the voices in her head start to get a bit too loud or a bit too familiar: the shooting range.

Normally she would track down Reaper or Sombra and drag them along with her so she can preen about her superior aim, but Reaper has been dispatched to Alexandria to investigate a criminal operating under the codename Shrike and Sombra is still confined to the medical bay.

The world slips away while she lines the target bots up and shoots them all down. It’s calming, something to occupy her for a few hours so she doesn’t have to concentrate on the blurry distorted memories of someone who isn’t quite Widowmaker that insist on creeping into the edges of her mind when she isn’t looking.

Without really thinking about it, she takes a detour on the way back to her quarters, and finds herself outside the medical bay doors.

There’s nothing technically wrong with her being here. Talon aren’t going to put her back under and wipe her again just because she comes to check on an injured partner. Reaper will probably get mildly offended that she’s never bothered to come and see him the few times he’s landed in the infirmary. Sombra will probably (read: definitely) be smug and annoying about it for a while, but she’s had to put up with Sombra being smug and annoying for months already, so it’s nothing she can’t handle.

The medical bay is eerily empty when Widowmaker eventually opens the door. Doctor Romanov, Talon’s head medic, is nowhere to be seen, but there’s light shining out from underneath one of the three recovery rooms at the end of the medical bay.

Maybe Sombra will be asleep, or too drugged to be her usual chatty self. Widowmaker wouldn't actually mind Sombra’s presence provided she keeps her mouth shut.

Sombra’s awake when Widowmaker opens the door without bothering to knock, three violet screens hovering in front of her face as she does… whatever it is Sombra does with her claws and her screens and her air of secrecy. She catches sight of the Talon insignia on one of the floating screens just before Sombra disappears all three with a wave of her hand, and decides not to ask.

“Hola,” Sombra says, obnoxiously cheerful as always. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

Sombra cocks her head to the side, staring at Widowmaker like she’s trying to figure her out. Widowmaker’s still trying to make sense of it herself. Maybe Sombra will have better luck.

“Glad to see you’re not dead,” Widowmaker replies, taking a seat in the chair next to Sombra’s bed, leaning her rifle against the wall.

“Oh, don’t you worry your pretty little head, cariño,” Sombra says with a smirk. Widowmaker has never been more offended in her life; she does not  _worry_. “You aren’t getting rid of me that easily.”

“A real pity,” Widowmaker says flatly.

There’s a slightly awkward silence after that. Sombra doesn’t reply with anything other than a scoff, and Widowmaker just doesn’t know what to say. She still isn’t sure why she’s even here. She doesn’t have the emotional capacity to genuinely care about anyone, she tolerates Sombra only on Talon’s orders, and she doesn’t even  _know_ Sombra that well other than she’s a hacker who likes the colour purple.

“So uh, since you’re here” Sombra starts, before clearing her throat and pointedly looking away from Widowmaker. “Romanov said that if I’d gotten to them any later there’s a high chance I could’ve died. More from blood loss than actual internal damage, Her Majesty needs to work on her aim a bit more if she’s shooting to kill.” Widowmaker watches as Sombra picks at a loose thread on the blanket, uncharacteristically nervous. “What I’m trying to say is, if you hadn’t been there, I wouldn’t be here.” Sombra glances over at Widowmaker. “I know you don’t trust me, or even like me, and you probably considered just leaving me for dead, or worse, for Overwatch to kidnap me and try to lure me over to the good side—” Widowmaker almost laughs. Almost. “—but thank you.”

“You are correct with your first two assumptions,” Widowmaker says. “But you are wrong about the third. I would not just leave one of my partners to die.”

“Partners?” Sombra’s face lights up, and Widowmaker gets the feeling Sombra is going to be crowing about this for the next year. “Huh, maybe I should get injured more often. It takes me nearly dying to bring out your soft side?”

“My soft side,” Widowmaker repeats, with an unimpressed expression.

“Yep,” Sombra giggles, and leans in unnecessarily close. Idly, Widowmaker notices that Sombra’s eyes aren’t violet like she first assumed, but a dark blue. "You should be more careful though, people might start to think you actually care."

Widowmaker narrows her eyes, and without shifting her gaze from Sombra’s face, she reaches out and pokes at the wound on Sombra’s stomach, hiding a smirk when Sombra yelps in pain.

/

After that, she doesn’t see Sombra that much for a few weeks. With Sombra out of commision for a while with her injury, Widowmaker and Reaper have to pick up a few extra missions, mostly dotted around Europe but there’s one week long excursion to Los Angeles, so Widowmaker isn’t around the Talon base that often.

The next time she sees Sombra for more than a few passing moments is a couple of days after her and Reaper return from Los Angeles — victorious, of course — and she’s returning to her quarters after a round on the shooting range, to find a bright pink sticky note attached to her door.

_Meet me at the gym at 11 tomorrow morning. Wear something other than that perpetual catsuit ;)_

Even if everything about the message didn't scream Sombra, the crudely drawn little skull next to the winky face would have given it away.

Widowmaker snorts, crumpling the note up and tossing it into the bin when she walks into her room. She's not going to go. Sombra’s probably just bored being confined to the base and wants a new prank victim. Reaper's somewhere in Iraq, Oasis if Widowmaker remembers correctly, stalking the mysterious Shrike, so Sombra has turned her attention to Widowmaker.

She isn’t going to go, despite how intrigued she may be.

/

It’s just curiosity that brings her to the gym at 11am the following morning. That’s what Widowmaker tells herself anyway as she opens the door, walks in, and promptly freezes when she catches sight of Sombra.

Obviously Sombra would have to be in pretty good shape to be working with a group like Talon, but Widowmaker had assumed she just did the bare minimum to be able to run for her life or beat up an Overwatch agent or two whenever needed. Lifted a few weights here and there, went for a leisurely jog on the treadmill every so often. Not... _this_.

Clad in black leggings and a loose purple crop top, Sombra is delivering one swift efficient punch after another to one of the punching bags. Her heavy breathing is audible in the empty gym and small huffs and grunts escape her each time her fists collide with the bag and Widowmaker can see beads of sweat on her forehead even from across the room.

This is the first time Widowmaker has seen Sombra wearing so little clothing. She always has her stupid trademark purple coat on whenever they’re on missions together, and when she’s not in her mission gear she seems to favour an absurdly large collection of oversized jumpers, so the rock hard abs and impressive biceps come as a bit of a shock to Widowmaker.

She might not be able to feel much in the way of attraction, but she isn’t  _blind_.

"Do you own anything that isn't purple?" Widowmaker asks, before Sombra catches sight of her and her not-so-subtle staring.

Widowmaker takes a few seconds to feel smug when Sombra jumps. It’s not often Sombra allows herself to be snuck up on.

“I didn't think you’d actually show up,” Sombra says, slightly out of breath as she walks towards where a towel and a bottle of water await her.

Widowmaker hums quietly, watching Sombra suspiciously. “Neither did I."

“So you  _do_ have clothes other than catsuits?” Sombra says with a smirk, blatantly leering at her plain outfit of white leggings and a black jumper while she unscrews the lid to her bottle of water. “Not that I’m complaining about them, at  _all_ , but it’s nice seeing you in something else. You look cute.”

Widowmaker snorts. She's been called many things, but this has to be the first time since she was Amélie that someone has referred to her as  _cute_.

“Care to let me in on what I’m doing here?”

"Of course. It has come to my attention that you rely too much on your gun," she announces, as if that is enough to explain why she's dragged Widowmaker here.

"I'm a sniper?" Widowmaker points out with a raised eyebrow when Sombra offers nothing further.

"I know, and you're really fucking good at it. Like, scarily good. Wouldn't wanna be on the angry end of that terrifying rifle you cart about." Widowmaker preens for a few seconds, before her smirk is wiped off her face when Sombra continues. "However, that means you’re not as practiced when it comes to close combat.”

Widowmaker glares at her, and Sombra scoffs. “Don’t give me that look. I mean don’t get me wrong, you’re not completely defenceless; you’re strong and fast and you could probably snap my neck with your thighs if you felt like it, but I saw security footage of you and Reaper in Numbani. Tracer took your gun off you and you were as good as dead.”

Widowmaker bristles at the mention of that godawful mission. Not only had they failed to retrieve Doomfist’s gauntlet thanks to Overwatch’s interruption, but she had been punched by a  _child_.

"So,” Sombra continues, dramatically spreading her arms and bowing. “I am here to offer my services as a sparring partner."

 _A sparring partner_. Widowmaker stares at her silently. On the one hand, Talon had never bothered actually training her in hand-to-hand combat. What little she  _can_ do she picked up on missions, and she usually has the element of surprise to work with, so Sombra has a point. She could probably use the training. On the other hand, this is  _Sombra_ she’s talking to. Manipulative, deceptive, secretive, suspicious-as-hell Sombra.

“What’s the catch?”

Sombra pauses with the bottle of water lifted halfway to her mouth, and she raises her eyebrows in question. “Catch?”

“You must want something in return.”

Sombra laughs, and Widowmaker feels the familiar irritation from being in the hacker’s presence start to rise. “Can’t one morally ambiguous hacker just do something nice for her fellow assassin every once in a while?”

“We are not friends, Sombra” Widowmaker says icily. “It would be in your best interests to keep that in mind.”

“What’s the problem here araña?” Sombra asks, her lips curving into a smirk. “Don’t you trust me?”

Widowmaker snorts, crossing her arms over her chest. “I’d be a fool to trust someone like you.”

“Someone like me?” Sombra places her hand over her heart in mock hurt. “Whatever makes you think you can’t trust me?”

“There is a string of failed missions that suggest trusting you is a terrible idea.”

“And somehow those are all my fault?” Sombra retorts. “If Talon really wanted that list of Overwatch agent names they should’ve sent me to Gibraltar instead of Reaper, I wasn’t even in Numbani with you two, I wasn’t the one who took too long to shoot Volskaya—”

“Hm.” Widowmaker makes a noncommittal noise in the back of her throat, cutting off Sombra’s tirade. “Funny you should mention that, considering we both know who is responsible for the failure of that mission.”

Sombra narrows her eyes suspiciously, but doesn’t say anything. “You forget, chérie,” WIdowmaker says, lifting her hand to tap against the side of her head, where her visor would normally be. “No one can hide from my sight.”

Widowmaker leans casually against one of the treadmills, fixing Sombra with a smug look. Sombra recovers quickly, but there’s a brief flash of panic on her face at being caught out before it’s replaced by her usual cocky expression. “If you were going to turn me in, you would have already.”

Widowmaker raises an eyebrow, slightly surprised at Sombra’s response. “You are prepared to take that chance?”

“You’ve known the whole time that I deliberately botched the mission, yet you’re still the one who took the heat for the failure.” Sombra points out, pointing at Widowmaker with the water bottle. “You have had countless chances to rat me out, so there must be a reason that  _you_ of all people, Talon’s loyal little lapdog, has kept their mouth shut.” Sombra cocks her head to the side, and takes a few steps closer to Widowmaker. Widowmaker resists the urge to take a few steps back. “So what game are you playing here?”

Widowmaker bristles, slightly caught off guard at having the tables turned on her so quickly. “There’s no game.”

“Then what is the point of this little stand-off? To scare me? Blackmail me? Because I have to say, blackmail isn’t really your forte.”

“To warn you.” It slips out before Widowmaker has a chance to stop herself.

From the look on Sombra’s face, she wasn’t expecting that answer anymore than Widowmaker herself was.

“Don’t make what happened on that mission a habit, Sombra,” Widowmaker continues before Sombra can question her. “I could not care less about what you do with Volskaya, but the next time you get caught it may not be by someone willing to look the other way. And you may be good at what you do, but with a group like Talon it is only a matter of time before you do get caught.”

Sombra nods slowly. “I’ll keep that in mind. But..." Her wary expression morphs into an arrogant smirk as she places the water bottle down, and the implants on her hands glow purple as she raises them in front of her face, materialising a screen out of thin air. "You forget as well, amiga. You aren’t the only one with eyes everywhere.” Blurry security footage of Widowmaker outside a snowy cemetery in Annecy flickers into view on the screen, and Widowmaker freezes. “Tell me, what would Talon think if they ever found out where you snuck off to at Christmas?” Sombra asks. “If they found out that their emotionless, cold-as-ice killer was busy placing roses on the grave of the husband she murdered herself?”

Widowmaker narrows her eyes, staring at Sombra with a calculating gaze. In retrospect, she's not sure why she thought Sombra wouldn't find out, considering the strange interest the hacker seems to have taken in Widowmaker since they got partnered together. At least Sombra is probably the least threatening candidate to know about her secret trip. Why Sombra didn’t rat her out before she disappeared off to Mexico to stalk Overwatch’s resident cowboy, Widowmaker has no idea, but there’s a lot about the secretive little shadow that she doesn’t understand.

“Well.” Widowmaker shrugs, and looks away first. “I suppose we both have our secrets,  _non_?”

It’s a strange realisation; that Sombra is keeping her secret —  _has_ kept her secret for months now — and she is keeping Sombra’s. Almost like something friends would do.

“I suppose we do,” Sombra replies cautiously.

"So,” Widowmaker says, eager to change the subject before Sombra has the bright idea to question Widowmaker about what exactly she was doing at that cemetery. “You are just offering to help me with sparring out of the goodness of your heart?"

"Nah, mostly just bored. Also—" Sombra clears her throats and shifts from one foot to the other. "You did save my life, so. Consider this me repaying the favour."

Widowmaker deliberates for a few more seconds, and when she can’t come up with a good reason to decline, she nods, and walks forward to join Sombra next to the line of punching bags.

They start off fairly easily, Sombra showing her the best way to land punches and kicks without injuring herself in the process, a few defensive stances, how to block and dodge attacks. Widowmaker tries not to flinch when Sombra takes hold of her hand to show her the correct way to make a fist. She doesn't have her usual gloves on, and her hands are  _so_  warm. Widowmaker wonders how much of the heat is the technology embedded in her skin and how much is just Sombra herself.

Sombra makes her practice on one of the punching bags for a little while, demonstrating how to punch and kick with the air of someone who could do it before they could even walk, before Widowmaker is being led over to the sparring ring.

“Keep going until one of us has the other pinned down?” Sombra asks, rolling her shoulders as she gets into position. Widowmaker nods warily, the pair of them already slowly circling each other. “Alright then. Show me what you got, amiga.”

Widowmaker successfully blocks three of Sombra’s punches and manages to land one hit against Sombra’s upper arm, before Sombra lashes out with her foot, kicks Widowmaker’s legs out from underneath her, and Widowmaker tumbles to the floor in an undignified heap. Before she can even think to try and scramble away, Sombra is on top of her, pinning her wrists at her side and regarding her with a smug expression. Widowmaker squirms under Sombra’s weight on top of her, but she's deceptively strong and Widowmaker fails to wriggle out from underneath her.

In all the time they've worked together, she's never been this close to Sombra before. She doesn't even remember the last time she was this close to  _anyone_.

“Better luck next time, cariño,” Sombra says with a chuckle, moving off Widowmaker and helping her up.

This is ridiculous, Widowmaker thinks to herself with an internal grumble. She was built to be a sniper, not a soldier. Her speciality is staying out of sight and picking off targets one by one, not charging into the heat of the battle and beating her opponents up.

By the third time in fifteen minutes that Sombra has her pinned to the floor, Widowmaker is seriously regretting indulging Sombra's insistence on paying off her debt. She isn’t completely helpless, she’s dodged plenty of Sombra’s kicks and landed a few punches of her own, but every time she thinks she might be able to tackle Sombra to the floor, Sombra sneaks in and knocks her flat on her back.

"You keep leaving your abdomen open for attack,” Sombra huffs as she heaves herself up.

Widowmaker levels her best death glare at Sombra. Sombra just rolls her eyes. “That’s not nearly as effective when you aren’t hiding behind that monstrosity of a rifle.”

“Where—” Widowmaker actually wheezes as she gets up, which is a bit embarrassing. “Where did you even learn to fight like this?”

Sombra gives her the look she reserves for when someone, usually Reaper, says something particularly dumb. “I grew up on the streets before I was taken in by Los Muertos. I didn’t really have a choice.”

Widowmaker eyes her curiously. Despite the fact that Sombra never seems to shut up, Widowmaker doesn’t think she’s ever heart her mention anything about her life before Talon.

“My parents died when I was seven,” Sombra explains, completely unprompted. “The first Omnic Crisis hit Mexico pretty hard.”

Sympathy may be as foreign a concept any other emotion, but Widowmaker can’t help but wince. Losing family at such a young age isn’t something that can just be covered up by bravado and sarcasm and arrogance.

“The world is a cruel place,” Widowmaker murmurs. “C’est la vie.”

“Anyway,” Sombra says, after a moment of glaring bitterly at the floor. “You used to be a ballerina, right?”

Widowmaker nearly trips over her own feet. “In another life, oui.”

“Good, that means— okay you can cool it with the death glares there Odile, we’ve already ascertained that I’m not gonna go spilling your secrets to everyone. I don't care if you remember dancing the Black Swan every night, I care about the muscle memory you should still have.” Widowmaker narrows her eyes suspiciously, resolutely ignoring the nickname and waiting for Sombra to continue. “You need to have grace and precision as a ballerina, don't you? So use that to your advantage, treat sparring like a dance. In terms of brute strength, you could be easily outmatched, but if you learn to play to your own advantages, you'll have much better chances.”

Surprisingly, Sombra’s advice is actually helpful. Widowmaker finds that she prefers to keep her distance and stay moving, bobbing and weaving around the punches and kicks thrown at her, striking quick and fast like a snake when she sees an opportunity. Sombra still lands and dodges more strikes than Widowmaker, but once Widowmaker gets used to the sparring, she improves a little. Sombra manages to get her on the ground again, but after a bit of tussling and a well-placed elbow to the ribs, Widowmaker manages to escape, jumping up to her feet and skipping back a few feet in preparation for Sombra coming at her again.

Sombra might have talent and strength on her side, but as Sombra pointed out earlier, Widowmaker is fast. She waits until Sombra next lunges at her with a kick to reach out with her arm and trap Sombra’s ankle between it and her body. She slams the palm of her other hand into the middle of Sombra’s chest, knocking her further off-balance, and then wraps one leg around Sombra’s waist to send them both tumbling to the ground, Sombra pinned beneath Widowmaker.

Sombra lets out a surprised  _oof_ when her back collides with the floor, and she looks shocked for a few seconds before it's replaced with a razor sharp smirk. “Congratulations araña,” she says, grinning up at Widowmaker. “I knew you had it in you.”

Widowmaker barely hears her. They're pressed close enough together that she can feel the steady thump of Sombra's heartbeat against her ribs, can see Sombra's pulse jumping in her throat, and her skin feels like it's on  _fire_ , Sombra’s burning warmth bleeding through two layers of fabric. Widowmaker hates how much she wants to push harder against the body below her, hates that the first thought that pops into her head isn't to get as far away from Sombra as possible, but to wonder just how hot Sombra's body can run.

 _How nice to find a flaw in Talon’s prized assassin_ , Amélie’s voice mocks in her head right as Sombra's eyes flicker down to Widowmaker's mouth,  _the craving of human touch_.

Sombra gives her a weird look when she jerks back abruptly, scrambling to her feet and taking a few steps back.

“I think I am done for today,” Widowmaker says, sounding more composed than she actually feels. She can still feel the faint warmth of Sombra’s touch on her. “Thank you though, this has been surprisingly helpful.”

“Glad to hear it,” Sombra beams at her as she gets to her feet. “Same time tomorrow then, amiga?”

Widowmaker takes her time before answering, just to make Sombra squirm a little. “See you then, mon amie.”

She ignores the way Sombra’s resulting blinding grin makes something foreign tug in her chest.

/

The sparring happens a second time, and then a third, and then a fourth, until it becomes a regular thing, part of Widowmaker’s routine. Occasionally Reaper will join them, whether to watch and give unhelpful tips or to just brood silently in the corner depending on how grumpy he's feeling that day. Neither Romanov nor any of the council members seem to object to this new development, although she does receive a disapproving look from Romanov when he spies a large bruise on her ribs during one of her check-ups, courtesy of Sombra landing a particularly vicious punch.

Slowly — very slowly — she starts to get better. She wouldn’t bet on herself if she had to go up against the cyborg Shimada or Volskaya’s pink-haired lapdog, but she could potentially hold her own against a group of thugs bigger and stronger than her.

It takes a while for Widowmaker to figure out the feeling she gets around Sombra; emotions that aren’t dulled are few and far between, but every so often one pops up, and Widowmaker focuses on it until she identifies what it is. It’s a certain attachment. To Sombra. To Reaper, too. Emotions are a weakness, logically Widowmaker knows this, especially when she isn’t even supposed to be capable of feeling them in the first place, but it makes her feel a bit better, knowing she has allies —  _friends —_  in a lonely, dangerous place like Talon.

(Not that she would ever admit it, of course.)


End file.
